Page 88 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
My lips twitch into a grin too gone to hold. “Was just resting my eyes,” I slur. The comic timing is reflex. My vision roars, and she swears.
Minutes stretch into heartbeat synchrony until the suit’s life bar steadies. Oxygen stabilizes. The bleed slows. Suit integrity returns.
“Stand up. We’re eight minutes from exfil,” she says quietly, but relieved.
“I’m standing,” I whisper, forcing my legs beneath me.
My injured arm burns. My side on fire. But I rise. I don’t stand for courage—I stand because she lifted me.
I move forward with limp swagger. The corridor’s red glow softens now that shields are down. Hostages huddle—smoke and terror etched across faces. I help them through the panic. Each release opens the door a little wider.
When we reach the docking bay, the shuttle’s hatch yawns like a salvation. Josie flies toward me, tether still at her side, kisses me before we fully land. It starts slow—ocean to shore—then deepens, frantic as regenerating life.
I taste ozone and the metallic tang of my blood. She pulls back, chest heaving. I cup her face with my uninjured hand.
“You—” I rasp, voice broken, wet. “You’re really bad at staying in your lane.”
She laughs softly, tears flecking her eyes. “You don’t have a lane.”
I laugh. My ribs grunt with pain. I pull her close. “You married a wild card.”
She smacks my chest gently. “You married a spark I couldn’t ignore.”
I swallow, dizziness creeping. “Let’s land.”
She takes my arm, not letting go as we shuffle into the shuttle. Inside, the medics rush forward. I let them work, but I keep my gaze locked to hers.
She squeezes my hand. “They can’t stop me,” she whispers. “Not ever.”
I grin, nasally. “Good to know.”
The medic presses a hypo into my neck—warmth floods through me. Pain blurs, but I barely feel it. I want to feel her.
Once secure, I lean back and close my eyes. The shuttle rumbles to life, doors clanging shut. I breathe—not for blood, not for oxygen—but for her.
She climbs beside me, pulling me close until the seatbelt tugs us tight. “You ready to come home?” she asks.
My voice is thick with gratitude and exhaustion. “Only if ‘home’ has you in it.”
She kisses my temple. The engines hum. I open my eyes to see her smile.
Outside the viewport, the rogue fleet retreats. Hostage vessels follow them out, crewed by survivors still breathing freedom.
Josie rests her head on my shoulder and says softly, “We did it again. Together.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah.”
I stare out at the fleeing vessels, stars sliding past. My side aches. My mask presses wet against my cheek. But theadrenaline fades into more profound sensation: life. Possibility. Peace earned in chaos.
I hiss through the comms: “Hellfighters, status?”
A dozen voices murmur triumph and relief. I bring Josie’s hand to my lips and plant a kiss on each finger.
“We live. We fight. And we don’t quit.”
She grips my hand, defiant.
I close my eyes and rest for an instant—then lean forward, voice firm. “Plot course home. The galaxy’s too big for one spark, and tonight, we’re wildfire.”
